


While the zombie apocalypse was happening I was breaking the Blade

by FoundFandomFamilies



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fanfic of a fanfic bitchesssss, Gen, Ily Ben, It's-this is angst, So take this fucker, a n g s t, but it is also, but you mentioned Techno around my ass and it was a mistake, ya zapoc great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundFandomFamilies/pseuds/FoundFandomFamilies
Summary: A pig walks into a zombie apocalypse, and immediately disassociates.
Relationships: Me/Unfunny tags, Technoblade/Bad coping mechanisms, Technoblade/Denial, Technoblade/Not dealing with his problems
Comments: 14
Kudos: 195
Collections: smpzapoc au: electric boogaloo





	While the zombie apocalypse was happening I was breaking the Blade

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Still Feel Alive (when it's hopeless, I start to notice)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894506) by [writing_and_worrying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_and_worrying/pseuds/writing_and_worrying). 



There’s a bed. 

It’s probably comfortable. Techno hadn’t really wasted much time investigating it. There weren't any weapons under the pillows after all. All the colours in this place were dull, not keeping his attention, so he’d moved on. It was safe, he hid out here, but his brain had left quickly. He didn’t even want to be back here, not moving put him on edge, but his being was aching and he'd nearly collapsed before he’d accepted he needed a break. 

This abandoned place had kept Techno safe once, but he wasn’t a gambler. He didn’t like messing with non set odds. But he didn’t have a choice.

Techno. After high school had ended his irl social life had dwindled immensely, but Techno still hadn’t been the only thing he was ever referred to as. His actual name was somewhere, buried, and growing dust. 

He’d always liked to keep his online life and his real life separate. Calling him Techno in real life was weird, calling him his real name online was also weird, just, keep them seperate. That’s all he asked.

He wasn’t sure when _he’d_ entirely made the switch to Techno though.

His name made it real. It made it _real_. He- _he couldn’t_ -

He was just more used to Techno by now anyways. 

He goes through his routine like he’s not even present for it. His brain manages to stay a constant haze despite being aware, always buzzing but never actually thinking, always planning but never processing, brain always switched on but on autopilot. 

It was easy to kill when you had the disconnect of feeling like you’re still at home in your chair. You don’t ever underestimate yourself. Just follow the well learnt controls.

He was surviving well. His brain was a traitor and an enemy, but it was also his greatest strength. He knew how to survive. He was surviving. 

He felt dead.

His feet hurt from pacing. Logic says to stay still, to stay quiet, but his brain screams in protest. Staying still means falling down a rabbit hole. Focusing on movement means pretending it’s not even there. 

He’s glad he found a coat. His arms are still raw from before he had. 

Even now one of his hands is desperately scratching at his arm, growing faster as he stops, not even settling when his better foot begins to tap like a bunny in a waistcoat. His hands flicker around the coat, around the buttons, around the zipper, for _something_ , but that’s too close to his face, the coat of death too strong at close contact, so he starts scratching once more.

His hands are coated. Both in fresh black and drying. Old flakes of it fall off just as much as recent blood smears. 

He was probably glad, now that he thought about it. That he hasn’t bumped into anyone. He bet he wasn’t a sight to look at. He probably looked more like death than those causing it. 

His chest hurt. The pain was sharp and burning and inescapable. He knew it wasn’t an injury. It was a pain he thought he’d grown used to, a monster he’d defeated that crawled back out from the cracks and loomed its ugly head with sharper fangs and crueler thoughts. 

_Loneliness_. 

It’s a prison he’s willing to shackle himself in however.

Other people meant talking. Other people meant outstretched hands. Other people meant _expectations, multiplied worries, lack of control, surrounded, focus, forced clarity, confrontation, questions, answers, pressure,_

**Facing things.**

...

The bed is probably comfy. So comfy it’d be hard to get out. But there’s no point in sleeping when he’s already placed his mind deep under.

It’s definitely not worth it for the sharp moments of clarity whenever he wakes up. For the brief confusion every time, that’s followed by realisation. That’s followed by naturally piecing everything together without his consent, that’s followed by his brain racing to give him answers he doesn’t want, that’s followed by hitching breathing and panicked tears before he can force his head under the water again.

He doesn’t want to sleep because he’s already forced himself into accepting his reality as a dream. 

He doesn’t want to sleep cause sleeping means waking up.

**Author's Note:**

> Ben mentioned Techno in their channel on my server for their zapoc ONCE, and my bitchass IMMEDIATELY-


End file.
